Big White Lies Read online

  “There’s a ceremony tonight, and the High Council’s nominated you and me to help run it.”

  “No way?” KA207 sat back, his face like a sideshow-alley clown having a ping pong ball shoved down its’ throat. “Where?”

  “There’s a massive world war two air raid shelter below us. Access is via the cells.”

  KA72 huffed. “That’s a joke…Why him?”

  “You’ve assisted before, and as this grommet hasn’t stopped telling us, he did good to chase her down today. He deserves a pat on the back...”

  KA207 smirked at 72, then turned to 43. “Lucky they chose our team, eh?”

  “No luck about it, we were the only team to secure all three targets this week.”

  KA72 snarled at 43. “This arvo, coming here, the prick…” He shook his head. “And now he gets to--.”

  “Shut it!” KA43 clamped a hand over 72’s forearm. His eyes flashed a warning then darted to 207. “What’d you do?” he whispered. “We can’t touch these girls, the boss wants them fresh.”

  Pink drained from KA207’s face, his voice trembled. “She was starkers in the back of the van. I got horny...”

  KA72 sighed. “Dangerous, messing with the boss’s girls. His, priceless princesses, as he calls ‘em.”

  KA207 gave a nervous chuckle. “Hah, that’s funny as fuck.”

  “Won’t be if he finds out...”

  KA43 spun towards him. “You should’ve stopped him.”

  “I dozed off, didn’t think the dirty bastard would jump her…Anyhow, you get paid to watch him and tell the bosses what happens, not me.”

  KA207 snarled. “Fuck you, 72. Fat prick…”

  KA43 glared at him. “I said shut it...This’ll stay between us. We’ve got bigger problems to worry about.”

  KA207 exhaled towards the ceiling.

  KA72 tugged his beard. “What bigger problems?”

  “Killing those council gardeners in the park,” KA43 said. “It increased the risk of detection big time.”

  “We didn’t have a choice, they saw us throwing her in the van. Coppers would’ve come from everywhere.”

  “Well, pray the other crew takes good care of them and their truck. Otherwise, we’re fucked.”

  “Those boys are top operators, they’ll leave nothing behind.” KA207 stared at 72. “And no-one needs to know about me and that Tindall girl. Right, 72?”

  KA72 gazed at his entwined hands.

  They sat silent for a minute.

  KA43 finished his coffee then stood. “I’m going for a nap…” He read his watch. “The ceremony starts at twenty-two hundred, in four hours. Don’t be late, you won’t wanna miss a second of it…”

  THREE

  Porter tapped his foot and drummed fingers on the conference table. A clock above the door read 6.06pm. A vital hour had passed since he’d learned of Nadia Tindall’s disappearance and he should’ve been out in Sydney’s cold, concrete mazes searching for her. Instead, he was stuck in a toasty conference room at Police Headquarters in Surry Hills, with its’ lemon scented carpet and the corny motivational prints hanging from papered walls.

  He tended to avoid meetings, especially those chaired by politicians. Politicians like the New South Wales Police Minister and acting State Premier, Kenneth Moorecroft, who’d been assigned the joint portfolio after the sudden death of Premier Abercrombie. Porter listened as his boss, Detective Superintendent Steve Williams, stated the case for the continuation of taskforce Azelia. Moorecroft and other politicians seated around the table nodded and frowned, and threw in the odd ‘ooh’ and ‘aah’ for effect. Porter suspected they didn’t understand most of what Williams told them and doubted they cared.

  “Senior Constable Dan Porter is a plain-clothes investigator attached to City of Sydney command,” Williams said in a deep monotone. “He’s worked Azelia since the first girls went missing back in May, and is well placed to answer any questions. Dan…”

  Porter took his eyes from the carpet and fiddled with his tie, grateful he’d brought Claire to the meeting. “This is Claire Duggan, our intelligence analyst.” He turned to the brunette in her early thirties seated next to him. “Claire will give a breakdown of what we’ve got so far.”

  “Evening…” Claire perused her notes. “I’ll begin with victim profiles…Over the pas--.”

  “Victims?” Moorecroft’s voice boomed from the middle of the table. He raised his pigeon-like body to full height in the chair and pushed glasses up the bridge of his scrunched beak. “What’s the total number dead?”

  “Umm…Sir, we refer to missing persons as victims when there are concerns for their welfare. None are deceased…Yet.”

  “Oh, good.” Moorecroft’s bald head turned red. “Victim is such a, depressing word.” He turned to his male assistant seated against the wall behind him. “Let’s avoid it in press releases…Go on Miss Dobbin.”

  Claire frowned as she hesitated. “Over the past twelve weeks we’ve had forty-three girls, aged between ten and sixteen, reported missing. The most recent was just a couple of hours ago. Thirty-two Aboriginal, nine Asian, and two Somali. All students. Famili--.”

  “But how many have already been found? Don’t try to fudge the figures in your favor, Miss Dobbin...” Moorecroft rocked back in the chair with a smug look on his face. “All forty-three girls aren’t still missing, are they?”

  “None have been located, sir. Of particular concern’s the spike this week, with fifteen more reported missing. It’s getting worse…”

  New South Wales Police Commissioner Graeme Delaney rubbed the short, snow-white hair on the back of his head. In his sixties, he had the firm jawline and broad shoulders of a much younger man. “I’ve seen nothing like this in forty years.”

  Porter put a hand to his mouth and yawned to disguise amusement.

  Moorecroft eyed him sideways then addressed Claire. “I stand corrected, Miss Dobbin. But if there are no signs of suspicious circumstance, why the concern for their welfare? Might they simply be…Runaways?”

  “It’s Duggan, sir, not Dobbin…” Claire tilted her head toward Porter. “Investigators have interviewed the victim’s families, and not one’s had communication with their daughter. The few girls with a history of running away have never left home for this long. We’ve had no leads…Well, not until this afternoon. If someone’s abducting these girls, as we believe is the case, they’re extremely professional.”

  Porter dipped his head.

  Williams ran a hand over buzz-cut, grey hair.

  Delaney chewed a finger.

  Kate Bonnetti, the federal Minister for Immigration and Chair of the National Women’s Rights Counsel, leaned forward. Middle-aged and chubby, with flawless olive skin, she worn her black hair in a tight bun. “How do forty odd girls disappear without anyone seeing anything? Hasn’t information come from the public, or from within their own communities?”

  John Sinclair, the federal Minister for Aboriginal Affairs, shook his head. He was of similar age to Bonnetti, but thin and pale. He flashed her a condescending smile. “Oh Kate, please…Our indigenous don’t trust the cops and keep problems to themselves. I imagine the Asians and Africans are the same?”

  “They are,” Bonnetti told him. “And coming from the police states they have, who can blame the poor things?”

  Commissioner Delaney turned his back on Sinclair to face Claire. “What happened this afternoon?”

  Claire thumbed through the bundle of papers, pulled out a single page and read from it. “Nadia Tindall, Aboriginal, aged fourteen years from Redfern. Reported missing between 3pm, the time she left school at Sydney Girls High, and 4pm, the time she normally arrives home.”

  Porter swallowed the dry lump in his throat. He heard Amber laugh, Nadia giggle, and Eddy growl.

  “An anonymous caller reported a vehicle of interest,” Claire said. “A white van of unknown registration with a red logo on the side door, not further described. It was last seen leaving Kings Park in Redfern at h
igh speed, at approximately 3.35pm. Nothing else regarding possible suspects…According to Nadia’s mother, she takes the bus from school then walks through Kings Park every afternoon. A general duties crew from Redfern responded…Let’s see…Eleven minutes after the call. Patrolled the area and saw nothing.”

  Moorecroft spun towards Delaney. “Eleven minutes after the call is simply not good enough.”

  “Ken, an anonymous informant provided scant detail...” Delaney’s voice quivered. “We’ve received hundreds of similar calls every day, most of them pranks, and the response time’s damn good considering...You want cops everywhere at once? Recruit another five thousand and I still won’t guarantee it.”

  Porter coughed to disguise a laugh.

  Moorecroft eyed him across the table. “Well, Detective…Porter, right? Superintendent Williams wants Azelia to continue. What’s your opinion?”

  Porter gritted his teeth. “Don’t let the suit fool you. I’m not a detective, mate. A street cop...”

  Moorecroft huffed. “Either way, we have the single sighting of an unknown white van, possibly involved in the abduction of our latest…Victim? Hardly a plethora of evidence gathered over the twelve weeks, wouldn’t you agree?”

  Bitter heat rose to Porter’s throat. He swallowed it and willed himself to remain calm. “Slow progress isn’t through a lack of trying. And it’s not twelve weeks, Azelia’s only been running for ten. Reckon I heard Superintendent Williams tell you that…”

  “I do not agree regarding your progress. Work harder, and smarter.”

  Porter hesitated for a few seconds. “You know what, mate, it’s much easier to criticize he who does, than to do, for he who criticizes...”

  Moorecroft’s eyebrows arched. “I know that quote…By a famous Roman Emperor, was it not? What does it mean again?”

  “Nah, it’s nothing famous, just a reference to desk jockeys like yourself who’ve never faced an angry man but declare themselves experts on everything…Compared to the cops, ambos, nurses, etcetera, who are out there twenty-four seven wiping society’s smelly arse. One lot talks a good game, the other lot have to play it…”

  “Must say, I’m confused.”

  “Reckoned you might be…”

  Claire started to laugh then covered her mouth.

  Williams frowned at Porter.

  Moorecroft addressed the group. “I am still concerned about the lack of progress, as we all should be. I pose the question…Is Azelia justified? Should we downgrade our commitment to it?”

  “Isn’t forty-three missing girls justification enough?” Porter made eye contact with everyone but Moorecroft. “Downgrade? We need more investigators…Like the Commissioner said, it’s a huge, scary city these girls have disappeared from.”

  Moorecroft leaned his head to the side as he studied Porter, his eyes conveyed contempt. “You’ve missed my point, but then again, we can’t expect a Constable to grasp the finer points of politics.” He chuckled as he glanced around the table. “Unfortunately, there’s no magic money tree, and budgets must be prioritized. Mr Delaney wants more money for his counter-terrorism strikeforce…Oh, I’ve forgotten…”

  Delaney grunted. “Matilda.”

  “Oh yes, Matilda. He needs resources to fight this Islamic terrorist group, Asus, or whatever they’re called. I don’t have the money unless we take it from elsewhere.”

  “ISIS, Kenneth, they’re called ISIS,” Bonnetti said, her tone impatient. “I tend to agree with Constable Porter, that forty-three missing girls is plenty of reason to keep Azelia…Not to mention the incessant pressure coming from ethnic groups and the media.”

  “Nonsense, the media’s been very quiet on this,” Sinclair said.

  “Not all…I had an interview request from CNN America last week. Part of a story they’re doing on racist Australia, the land down under that doesn’t give a damn about minority groups.” She scoffed and crossed flabby arms.

  “Good old CNN...” Moorecroft sniggered. “One would assume their buddies in the Democrats want them focusing on that tyrant who’s leading the damned nation? Surely they have enough to write about, with fake news and political witch hunts, Mexican walls, race hate rallies and riots. Not to mention mass shootings…”

  Porter opened his mouth to comment and for a milli-second doubted its’ wisdom, but couldn’t help himself. “Seems the trend for you politicians. Are you gunna label these missing girls as fake news too?”

  Moorecoft groaned, like a teacher tired of a disruptive pupil. “Kate, tell CNN to stay in their own backyard. Tell them to annoy their own cops, the ones who shoot blackies for fun.”

  Porter leered at him. “Are you serious?” The others around the table shifted in chairs. “Yeah, I’m not one of you lot, but I’ve been to enough of these bullshit meetings to know what’s politically correct. My girlfriend’s Anglo-Jamaican, and mate, that word is fu--.”

  “Cannot believe I said it myself, Constable…” Moorecroft smirked. “Anglo-Jamaican you say? I’m not aware what the Brits call their blacks these days…Gollywogs still, maybe? I do apologize, profusely, for any offense caused.”

  Porter leaned back and blew steam at the uncomfortable silence hanging over the room.

  “Kate, I see your point,” Moorecroft said, “we do need to be mindful of international criticism, but ignore CNN and others for now. Media coverage of the terrorist threat here in Sydney, perceived or otherwise, has been ten times greater than that given to the missing girls.”

  Sinclair nodded. “And let’s face it, as far as the Liberal party’s concerned, isn’t the potential backlash from an electorate terrified of terrorism, far worse than what we’d get from those who care about the missing girls?”

  “Precisely,” Moorecroft said. “Kooris will continue to vote for us because we give them more money. The migrant vote seems to remain fifty-fifty no matter what policy direction we take. And Prime Minister Tate has made it very clear where he stands on the matter, judging by the haste with which he announced the new anti-terrorism legislation last week.”

  Bonnetti sighed. “I concede that yes, from a purely political sense, terrorism is the greater concern.”

  Commissioner Delaney thumped an open hand on the table. “You’re all talking rubbish, newspaper politics. Get your heads out of your arses and face reality. We’re at war here.”

  Moorecroft tut-tutted. “Graeme, your tone, please…”

  “Look, I need Matilda, to hit these local terrorist cells friggin’ hard. Sieges, thwarted plane bombings, assassinations of police personnel…It’s only the start from what intelligence tells us.”

  “Media sources suggest the threat is more perceived, than real.”

  “And how would they know, Ken? Listen, these radical extremists are fair dinkum, so stop sweeping their terrorist acts under the carpet. You want us to become the next London, or Paris? You want a 9/11 here in Sydney?”

  “We cannot dismiss the media, and must be mindful of public perception…”

  Delaney scoffed, his face like a peeled beetroot. “We’re all judged in the media and you lot want your votes, but if we don’t strike now, a few missing girls will be the least of our worries. I’d love to keep Azelia going as well, but if you’re asking me to choose, Matilda must take priority.”

  The group sat silent.

  Porter shook his head. How had forty-three missing girls become a few?

  Moorecroft turned to Williams. “I am sorry Superintendent, but I have no choice…” He faced Delaney. “Graeme, Azelia will shut down immediately. Its’ budget and resources will be transferred to strikeforce Matilda. I assume you have alternative measures to address this missing girls’ issue?”

  Delaney dipped his head. “The Missing Persons Unit will take over the case files.”

  Porter threw his hands up. “Bloody hell, those stooges struggle to find a missing coffee mug. Don’t you wanna give these girls a chance?”

  Williams shrugged. Commissioner Delaney frowned. Sincl
air smiled. Bonnetti fiddled with her briefcase. Claire shuffled papers.

  Moorecroft stood. “Settled then, my decision is final.” He checked his watch. “I have another meeting to attend.”

  Porter rocked back, veins at the corners of his forehead throbbed. “It’s a fucking disgrace…”

  Moorecroft screwed his face. “Constable?”

  Porter glanced at Williams, who averted his eyes.

  Commissioner Delaney closed his diary. “I understand the Constables’ disappointment, but let’s just get on with it…”

  Moorecroft smirked at Porter. “Thank you all for your attendance. Good night.”

  The group began to shuffle from the room.

  “Port, stay a sec,” Williams said. He asked Claire to wait outside then pulled out the chair next to him.

  Porter sat, head still shaking. “Why’d you let ‘em screw us over like that?”

  They’d been good mates since playing in police rugby league teams together. Porter the fit young Constable, and Williams, the hard-headed Sergeant had formed a formidable front-row. These days Porter suspected Williams played the political game better than most, because he’d climbed the corporate ladder fast enough.

  Williams glowered. “Listen, I kissed their arses with that spiel about Azelia and tried to win them over. Fact is, Moorecroft’s right, we’ve got nothing. And your piss poor attitude didn’t help.”

  “Mine? He’s a racist bastard who doesn’t know ISIS from a computer company…”

  “I needed your support and took a gamble. It backfired, big time.”

  “Don’t bring me to these meetings if you don’t wanna hear the truth.”

  “You’re right, I should’ve known you’d bite.”

  “I’m not in the wrong here, mate. You saw the look on Moore--.”

  “But that’s Moorecroft, he expects total autonomy. We’d lost the second you ruffled him.”

  “What a load of crap…He’s got the money, just doesn’t wanna spend where it won’t buy votes. Tugger was right…”

  “ACLO Tugger?”

  “Yeah, dread telling him and the Azelia crew about this…And Jane. Poor Amber won’t be allowed out of her bedroom, let alone the house.”